Coulrophobia
by Little Boy of Lothering
Summary: It's Dean's fault Sam is afraid of clowns. Tag to "Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie."


I re-watched season seven of _Supernatural_. Tag to the episode "Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie" because clowns horrify me too.

Disclaimer: not mine.

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"Coulrophobia"

It's Dean's fault that Sam is afraid of clowns.

He knows it's pathetic to still have this stupid phobia after living through Hell and Lucifer keeps reminding him of it. But he can't help it because, well, certain things just _persist_. It also definitely doesn't help that he saw clowns in the Cage, too, because the Devil knows how to play to every rational and irrational fear he's ever head. Seeing them in real life (_but how to you know you aren't still here with me, bunk buddy?_) is more of a shock than he let on.

When he was a kid, too young even for the stupid pizza chain, Dad took a job not far from the town's annual carnival. Sam was seven and their dad decided he trusted an eleven-year-old Dean enough to let them go off on their own and have fun. There was no way that his brother could've known that leaving him for two minutes while he went on a roller coaster Sam wasn't tall enough to ride would cause anything disastrous. But it did because a group of teenagers walking by missed the small body of some short, skinny kid biting his nails. He'd been pushed back, stumbled, and next thing he knew the knew he was getting jostled around by people's legs until he lost sight of the ride exit and even where he was.

Then, the clowns.

Someone's knee knocked into his back, throwing him off balance, and he fell on his back into the middle of a group of things in brightly colored costumes and painted faces with rainbow hair that at that time he didn't know the name of. He caught himself because Dad taught him how to and he's a quick learner and four pairs of eyes stared straight down at him.

"Need any help, kid?" one of them asked as a second tried to help him up. With their white faces they looked like the monsters Dad hunted and despite the helpful tone, every instinct was screaming at him to get away, to get back at Dean.

As he tried to scramble away and fell again, a third said, "Whoa, kid, take it easy. We aren't going to hurt you."

But you _are, _he thought, his seven-year-old mind supplying all sorts of horrible imagery about sharp objects and bullets and pain. "Where're your parents?" the last one said as the first helped him up against his will. Their faces were white, their mouths all stretched, red smiles. "Kid?" He shook his head, wanting to get away but his feet refuse to move. "What? Know parents?"

_If I talk, I get out of here quicker_, he told himself, eyes darting around for potential exits like Dad and Dean taught him to. "I'm with my brother," he finally answered, voice coming out as a squeak.

The second one crouched, coming down to his level which scared him even more. They must have sharp teeth, he thought, shaking. That's why they've got fake smiles. "Calm down," he said and Sam took a step backwards. "Look, I get that you're freaked, but you have to tell us where you last saw your brother."

He didn't tell them because they were probably just using him to get to Dean and then they could gobble up both of them. He wished his brother was here, or Dad because this wasn't something he could get out of on his own.

Before he could do anything, he heard a faint, frantic voice shouting, "Sammy! Sammy!" and bolted, ducking underneath the legs of the third one and running in the direction of the voice. When he finally saw Dean and he saw him, he threw himself at his older brother who caught him before he could fall. "Don't do that again, Sammy!" he said before Sam could say anything, voice a little more high pitched than usual.

"Can we go back?" he asked, not caring that he was shuttering now. "Can we go back _now_?"

Dean rubbed circled on his back and Sam buried his head in his neck, still not feeling entirely safe. "What happened?" he answered, and he started getting jostled around in his big brother's arms as they left. Dad said he'd meet them at the motel. "Sammy?"

Even though they were leaving, he could see feel the eyes watching them and knew he couldn't tell Dean because then he'd go after them and the monsters were going eat them. "I-I got pushed and lost," he said, which wasn't entirely a lie. "I couldn't get back to you, Dean."

"Well I'm here now," said his brother, "and we're heading back. No one's going to hurt you while I'm here, okay? I'll make you a peanut butter and banana sandwich and we'll watch the Looney Tunes. Is that good?"

He nodded into his brother's neck, breathing in cotton candy and popcorn and sweat. Dean wasn't big on cuddling, but Sam didn't care; whether he liked it or not, he wasn't letting go tonight.

Now, years later, he finds himself subconsciously doing the same thing. Lucifer is quiet now, dispelled by the scar on his hand, and his brother's got his arm wrapped around his shoulders as they watch a soccer game. He asks, "What the Hell did clowns ever do to you, Sammy?"

He knows it's been years and he should tell truth, but he says, "Nothing," anyway.

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Everyone always writes about clowns sexually abusing him when he was younger, so I decided to try something different. Thoughts?


End file.
